A Mid-Winter Night's Dream
by Jenny Strax
Summary: "Swift as a shadow, short as any dream; brief as the lightening in the collied night." A potion exploding, a loophole in time, a confused and slightly ashamed Slytherin, a war, and red-headed twins. Flora and Fabian, and everything that comes with a love that maybe, just maybe, can withstand time itself. Time-travel.
1. Twins? Twins!

_December 18th, 1996_

Flora hadn't been doing too much when the potion exploded. She should have been paying attention, though - when Parkinson asked her and Hestia to brew a potion she wanted to use on Potter or one of his cronies, they had accepted. Parkinson was a Slytherin, after all, and being a Slytherin herself Flora wanted to see the Gryffindors knocked down a peg in the upcoming Quidditch match.

Dangerous Potions to Use on Enemies was open to page 297, and Hestia was leaning over it, checking to see if their potion was good so far.

"I don't see anything wrong," her sister shrugged. "It's supposed to be a blue-purple colour, and it's exactly that." Hestia had stood up, with the book tucked underneath her arm. "I might as well go sneak this back into the restricted section before Pince knows it's gone. As much as Snape may approve of our brewing potions to harm and embarrass Gryffindors, he'd be obligated to give us detention with McGonagall, and I doubt neither you nor I fancy that."

"Definitely not," Flora agreed. "You go, I'll stay here and watch the potion. I doubt anyone will come into Myrtle's bathroom, here. No one does. 'Cept for us, of course."

Hestia had snaked away towards the Restricted section. Both twins had the innate Slytherin ability to sneak around - they always seemed to 'blend' into the background because of their publicly quiet natures and average looks.

Flora sat up stiffly against the cold stone of the bathroom. They would have to let the potion simmer for exactly forty-five minutes - they were at only seven now - and then stir is eight times clockwise before it was finished. It was a very precise potion, and missing anything by even a minute could cause substantial side effects.

They had been up all night with this potion, and although she had used an Energizing Charm, she was still extremely tired. Parkinson, while rather cunning, wasn't a genius at Potions, and reminded them of a favour they owed to her last year.

She adjusted her green tie and fixed the buttons on her robe. If her father and mother saw how unkempt and messy she looked, they'd have a fit, for sure.

Flora couldn't wait until this potion was done, she thought, yawning. Only a few more minutes…

* * *

"Flora!" Hestia exclaimed, shaking her sister awake. She'd fallen asleep slumped against the wall, with her wand loosely in one hand and the other draped across her stomach.

"Flora," snapped Hestia, shaking her awake.

"Hmm?" Her sister asked, glancing around the bathroom before the potion caught her eye. "Shite!"

"How long have you been asleep?" Flora checked her watch, narrowing her eyes.

"Just over… forty-five… minutes." Hestia winced as if she was physically scalded.

"Do you remember what the book said, Flo?"

"I'm not known for my memory, Hestia."

"It said, Missing the exact moment could, and will, have very serious side effects."

"We can remove it - Scourgify it. And start over."

Hestia backed up a few steps while Flora, eyes still blurry with sleep, leaned over the cauldron bubbling dangerously.

"Scourgify!" she exclaimed. The potion responded by slowly draining into nothing, like there was a leak in the bottom that she couldn't fix. A purple shimmer ghosted around it, sparkling. Hestia looked nervous.

It was a clatter, black, and a scream before Flora disappeared.

* * *

There was going to be a bruise on her back later, she knew it.

Something dug into her backside and Flora winced and jumped up. It was dark around here, and she groped around for her wand anxiously; she found it tucked in a pocket.

Lumos, she whispered, alighting the cold, stone space.

She seemed to be in some sort of office; it seemed vaguely familiar, but she couldn't pinpoint how.

"Hestia? Hestia?" She called, and when no voice similar to hers responded, she called again. The office - whatever it was - was completely empty, barring a chipped wooden desk and a straight-backed chair.

Her sister wasn't here. Where was her sister? She needed her sister. She was somewhere, alone, and where was her sister?

Flora panicked. Usually, she was calm, quiet, if not stuck-up. Neither herself nor Hestia denied it; they rarely talked to anyone outside of themselves and occasionally their yearmates in Slytherin.

She shut her eyes rather childishly, and opened them once again. Nope, she was still here. She wasn't sure where here was; it could be Hogwarts, maybe, but it also couldn't. It was a windowless, stone, square room with only two simple pieces of furniture in it.

In haste, Flora wrenched the door open, and light came pouring in.

She was in… the Ministry?

People walked about, in older looking robes. Hers, by comparison, seemed new. She glanced for someone she knew in the crowd, but the people trickling by here in the Atrium seemed achingly unfamiliar.

Until a flash of red - two flashes of red - caught her eye. What were the Weasley twins doing here? Out of all of the people in the world, it had to be two of Gryffindors she completely abhorred, more so than normal...

It wasn't the time to be shy or nervous, she thought. Where was she? What had that potion done? If this was a dream, it was bloody confusing and she couldn't wait to wake up.

"June 8th, 1975!" A voice, loud and pompous, calls out. It reminds her of Percy Weasley, that Head Boy that enjoying docking points from his own house, and she shuddered.

Her head starts to spin. June 8th, 1975? No, that couldn't be right. That certainly couldn't be right. What a stupid dream this was - why 1975, in the Ministry atrium? Flora pinched herself in annoyance, further propelled when all her pinch caused was momentary discomfort. Where in the bloody hell was she? More importantly, where was Hestia? They never left each other's side. They were sisters, best friends, confidants. Flora only talked around Hestia, and Hestia only talked around Flora.

Shuffling through the Atrium, determined to get to a Floo so she could at least Floo somewhere and find what was going on - or hopefully wake her up from this peculiar, uncharacteristic dream she was having.

Annoyance had taken over her, and she hadn't noticed bumping into a firm, stocky chest.

"Watch where you're going, there," the voice laughed. She caught a glance of red hair. It was a Weasley, it had to be. But they looked so much… older. Could one look so different after seven months, gain wrinkles and appear so much older and wiser…

"Are you a Weasley twin? Red hair, I'd guess you are," she said coldly - her public voice, she called it.

"Weasley twin? What're you on about? I'm a Prewett. Fabian Prewett actually, though the name you're mentioning happens to be my brother-in-law. Who're you?" The man - who couldn't have been older than nineteen or twenty - raised his eyebrows. His twin, it seemed, had turned around to chat with a mutual acquaintance.

"What's the date today, Prewett?" He was short and stocky - had to be 5'9'' at most, with well-developed muscles. Flora ignored his question, and although she was only a measly 5'2'', she stood tall. As tall as she could.

"It's June 8th. Blimey, where've you been? And speaking of that, you are…"

"Flora," she said impatiently, "and what year is this, might I ask?"

"1975. Hit your head, Flora? Amnesia, perhaps? Everyone knows the bloody year. Hey, Gid." Fabian nudged his brother, who spun around and introduced himself.

"Gideon Prewett. You are?"

"Flora."

"Flora…" he prompted, obviously searching for a surname. That was the problem with her surname - once she said it, people automatically assumed herself and her sister were involved in the Dark Lord's regime. They weren't. Her mother had herself and Hestia after annulling her marriage to their father, and it was only by law that she kept her surname. Her mother had always insisted hyphenating it, putting her maiden name first.

"Flora Albanese-Carrow. Do you happen to be relatives of any sort to any of the Weasley siblings? Red hair, loads of freckles. Very similar."

"Our nephews," responded Gideon, narrowing his eyes. "Just what are you getting at, Flora? And why are you here - it's a school day, shouldn't you be at Hogwarts? You're wearing Slytherin robes and all."

"I don't know how I got here," she snapped. "And yes, I would be at Hogwarts right now, in a different time period, if Parkinson hadn't asked myself and my sister - I don't have any idea where or when she is either - to brew some stupid potion to turn the Gryffindor Quidditch robes from red to green, exploding and bringing me to Merlin knows where!" Flora exclaimed, shocking herself with her own outburst. What was she doing? She never spoke like this to anyone… ever. It was probably just the pent-up confusion and frustration at this situation.

Fabian and Gideon shared a glance. She recognized that glance; it was one she had given Hestia and one Hestia had given her. It was a look of understanding, of being able to communicate flawlessly without words.

"So?" she asked. Her chin jutted up in the Slytherin-esque confidence that her mother had brought her up on.

Gideon nodded at his brother, clearly finishing their nonverbal conversation.

"I'll send a message to Dumbledore… you can talk to him. Alone." The look they gave her was undecipherable.

* * *

a/n - _yes, _I will be updating Keep soon, so check back soon. Just a 15-chapter plot bunny that bugged me for a while until I wrote it. thought? by the way, i've changed my penname from _hidings _to _depayement. _


	2. The Great Gideon Heist

_**The Great Gideon Heist**_

"Miss Carrow -"

"Miss Albanese, if you please, sir." Flora and Hestia had always been nothing but sickeningly polite to Professor Dumbledore - arrogance and boastfulness got you nowhere when you were talking to authority figures, mother had always said. As a Slytherin, she had found it was always important to install trust in authority figures.

"Miss Albanese," said Dumbledore. He paused for a moment, leaning over his desk. "Do you know where we are?"

When the Prewett twins - _not _the Weasley twins, oh no, there's a difference - had mentioned talking to Dumbledore, she had taken that opportunity. Although the rest of her house seemed to sneer at the Headmaster in her time, she - as in herself and Hestia - thought it silly. He was a wise wizard, only a fool could deny that. Although she didn't kneel down to him like Gryffindor did.

Flora glanced at her surroundings. An office, of some sort, not the abandoned Ministry one she had appeared in. Comfortable. In some sort of house, she would have guessed.

"No, I don't, Professor."

"All in due time, Miss Albanese."

"Professor, why do they trust me?"

"Whom?"

"Fabian and Gideon. Why didn't they alert the Ministry that a Hogwarts student was in the Atrium during school hours?"

"Some have a very keen eye for distinguishing between whether one is trustworthy or not. You, Miss Albanese, are very easily determined. By your unwillingness to be called by your other surname, and your mannerisms and the way you speak. Mister and Mister Prewett happen to have this gift, my dear."

"Oh," said Flora, opening her mouth a couple of times. There were a few things she wanted to say - _many _things she wanted to say, in fact - but she was a Slytherin, not a Gryffindor. She didn't have those 'nerves of steel' or whatever they were bloody called, and thus she settled for sitting quietly.

"You must have a lot of questions," said Dumbledore, his half-moon glasses perching on his crooked nose.

Flora nodded.

"I believe, Miss Albanese, that I could answer them."

Flora gave him a questioning look, with her lips pressed tightly together. _Dumbledore _had no idea who she was - or who she would be - and yet he was offering to help her? She pursed her lips.

"How?" One simple word.

"A Pensieve. Surely you've heard of one? You can tell me your story." As quickly as the answer came, Dumbledore conjured a flask. "But before that, Miss Albanese, I'd like to know about yourself."

"Why?"

"Why? Ah, it's hard to say. But please, enlighten me - I'm curious as to how you prefer to use a different last name instead of your own.

"I haven't ever met my father. My parents' marriage was annulled before we were born," said Flora stiffly, rather uncomfortable under a younger Dumbledore's scrutinizing gaze. "I prefer using my mother's name because I am not associated with the Carrow name or any of the Carrows, or what they believe in. Although I am not a Muggle-lover, I am not a Death Eater."

"I see," said Dumbledore simply. "And you know nothing of your aunt and uncle?"

"I have heard of them, yes. I do not believe they know about myself and my sister, however."

"Sister?"

"Hestia Albanese. I… I don't know where she is." Dropping the cold demeanor for a second, Flora bit her lip in worry. They were never separated, herself and Hestia.

Dumbledore only mused at her answer.

"I know _when_," she specified.

"And when would that be, Miss Albanese?" It was almost foolish of him, she thought, to willingly believe her so easily. But then again, he would most definitely know if she was weaving a web of lies. She had no doubt about that. Draco Malfoy and his cronies could call Dumbledore a Mudblood-loving fool, but even they could not deny the brilliance of the man.

She still didn't sing his praises, though, like Harry Potter.

"December 18th, 1996," she said, and something off appeared on Dumbledore's face - nothing large, and it had only passed his face for a moment, but Flora still caught it. She was good at reading people - as a child, her and Hestia communicated through a series of looks and gestures. Still did, if it was needed.

"Interesting," Dumbledore mused once more, but didn't elaborate. Flora tapped her foot in frustration.

"If I may, what is so _interesting, _professor Dumbledore?" The words had come out a little sharp - not that she intended them to, but this whole bloody situation was so… _surreal._

"Miss Albanese, have you heard of a pensieve?" He asked.

"Yes." She felt like saying _of course I do. _At this - at _her _time and age - who didn't?

* * *

"Interesting," was all Professor Dumbledore said again, banishing the pensieve and giving her a quizzical look. "We shall sort this out - I have a theory, of course, a most interesting theory... but for now…"

Flora waited. He seemed to draw out the silence purposely, making it more dramatic than necessary - couldn't they just get it on and over with, a wave of his wand and she's out of her dream or this time or wherever she currently was at the moment?

"You may stay at the Headquarters for the Order of the Phoenix."

"The… the _what?_"

"The Order of the Phoenix - all will be explained in due time. If you want to go back to your own time - and see your own sister again, I may add - it might just be wise to keep silent and still, and not to get involved or form attachments. I called one of the Prewett twins to escort you back."

Flora almost felt like correcting him - _Weasleys, they were _- but realized it was unwise, seeing at the bloody infuriating 'Weasley twins' that went to Hogwarts in her time were either infants or toddlers.

One of them came through the fireplace of Dumbledore's office with a quirked brow.

"Gideon Prewett. And this is…"

"Flora," she said shortly. Hadn't they been over this?  
"Right," he said, and with a cheery grin, offered his arm to her. She gave him a look that clearly must have said back off, because he did just that.

"You've got lots of fire, it's a shame you weren't a Gryffindor," said Gideon with a half-smile, before tugging on her arm and Disapparating with a crack.

* * *

_I have changed my penname to Jenny Strax. No worries, it's staying like that. And for all of you who are wondering about Keep - a fourth chapter is in the works. Cheers, and leave a review, please!_


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